


Back To Fucked Up

by TheZev



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dildos, Dom/sub, F/F, First Time, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23074186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZev/pseuds/TheZev
Summary: Trish likes being Jessica's friend. She likes helping her on her crusades. But sometimes, she wishes things between them were as crazy and messy and wonderful as they used to be. She wishes they could go back.
Relationships: Jessica Jones/Patricia Walker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

Jessica took off her jeans and Kurt Cobain T-shirt, her bra and panties, already thinking of a quip to make about the interest Trish was taking in her body. Not that girlfriend was giving up five o’clock shadows and cumshots anytime soon. No, Trish’s interest was in the welts that were revealed as Jessica stripped.

It was a little too kinky even for Jessica. Getting rid of the material that chafed her raw skin was a pleasure, but it was also a pain. And however much Trish sympathized her, she was also holding back her tongue from clucking in disapproval.

They had no idea of the limits of Jessica’s superpowers. How tough she was, what she could take, what she could heal from. Jessica might be bulletproof for all she knew. But it was a sore subject for her. Not something she wanted to spend her free time on when there was beer to be drunk, anywhere in New York State.

Which naturally didn’t sit well with Trish. If she had Jessica’s power, she’d be on the Avengers in a week. Probably already have a twelve-step plan, just in case. Jessica made things up as she went. She didn’t even check if there was toilet paper before she sat down on the toilet.

For her part, Trish looked at Jessica’s fine body as it was revealed to her, as beautiful as it was defaced, and wondered if it was a mark of how much she cared about Jessica that she could have any amount of warm, fuzzy feelings when she was this pissed at her.

She didn’t try to sort out any of her feelings—especially the ones that went beyond warm and fuzzy to tingly and groin-y. She wanted to lie there on the bed with Jessica for however many hours it took for Jess to sleep off her latest violation; just be there for her in the slightest hope that it would help her in some way, make things a modicum easier for her, as if Jessica ever made anything easy for herself. Maybe that was why they had ‘broken up.’

“Let me get some ointment,” she said. “Those welts look like hell.”

“They’re probably doing wonders for my complexion,” Jessica snarked. “Acid, chemical peel, what’s the difference, right?”

Jessica was a goddamn Avenger, at least to Trish, and she was still exhausted. That being the case, Trish didn’t know how her own merely human body was moving. She had to be feeling at least as physically and mentally weary as Jessica did, because there was no way anyone could be more tired than her. But junkies did crazy things for their fixes—went to extremes that made Captain America look like a quitter—and she seemed to be addicted to helping Jessica goddamn Jones.

Shedding some of the outer layers of her ensemble, and getting a few iotas of relief from the ton of weight that seemed to be on her shoulders, Trish came back with a bottle of lotion. She unscrewed the cap and poured a generous helping of the thick liquid into her palm.

“Get on your belly so I can rub this in.”

“Oh, are we saving the happy ending for last?” Jessica teased. Goaded.

“Maybe I just don’t want to look you in the eye. Do as I say.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Jessica gave in, groaning as her weight settled on new bruises.

With her looking away, Trish let herself take in her beauty. Despite the damage, despite the lifestyle, she was beautiful. A perfect sylphlike vision, pale skin dreamily contrasting her jet-black hair and even darker eyes, those subtle curves like some perfectly proportioned statue of a Greek goddess. Black Widow might’ve had a sexier body, but in comparison to Jessica she was almost obnoxious, over the top. A fantasy. Jessica was just as beautiful and she was real. Too damn real.

Trish rubbed her hands together, lathering the lotion into her palms. “This’ll burn for a second before it works, but it has a kind of painkiller in it, so you can get some sleep while it helps you heal.”

“Great. More burning. I love it when I pee and that happens, so even more sounds just swell.”

Trish slapped her hands down on Jessica’s back and began rubbing the lotion in. She told herself she didn’t have to be gentle. The lotion had to be rubbed deep into Jessica’s skin, down to the muscle.

“ _Gkk!”_ Jessica cried. “Shit, Trish, that hurts like _fuck!”_

“Don’t get splashed with acid,” Trish replied.

“Fucking—torture session!” Jessica groused. “You couldn’t let me get some tequila first?”

“Like it actually works on you.”

“It works enough.”

“Or you could gut it out for five seconds.”

“Oh, like you’re so tough?”

“I’m not the one whining like a baby.”

“That’s funny. That’s real funny.” Jessica gritted her teeth and let Trish’s cool fingers work more lotion into her burning body. It did feel better after a moment. Funny how that only pissed her off more. “ _It’s Patsy, Patsy, I really wanna be your friend—“_

Trish spun her around, dropping Jessica onto her back and holding her down like she was about to punch Jessica’s head through the mattress. “Don’t.”

“What?” Jessica asked, enjoying being an asshole too much to hold back a wicked grin. _Saint Trish, not so above it all._ “I thought you were a badass _chica._ A regular Michelle Rodriguez. You can’t even take a sing-along?”

“You are such a fucking dipshit—I’m trying to help you.”

Jessica twisted her head away, hating the hurt look on Trish’s face. _Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea._ Not that she’d ever admit it. “I didn’t ask you to. You’re the one who wanted to slather this stuff all over me. What’s the big idea—this’ll save time later when you wanna lube me up?”

Trish groaned as she rolled her eyes heavenward. “You are such a _child.”_

“Yeah, well, when I was a child, you fucking loved me, so…”

Jessica immediately shut her eyes after saying that. She’d never been accused of being the most sensitive girl, but there were red flags and then there was a nuclear detonation. And she’d stumbled right into it, not thinking, _as usual._

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ she started.

“Let’s just finish up with the lotion,” Trish said. “Before I storm out of here and burn you in effigy.”

“Yeah,” Jessica agreed, feeling totally pathetic. She started turning over. “I could spring for matches…”

Trish stopped her, a hand on her shoulder. “I’m already done with that side.”

“Oh.” Jessica leaned back. That left the front of her. Funny how she wouldn’t care about half the East Side touching her there, but when it came to Trish… “I can do—“

“No, don’t move,” Trish said firmly. “I’ll do it.”

“It’s no problem. Like you said, I can tough it out.”

Jessica started to rise—pain lashing through her as she strained her damaged flesh. Trish was quick to shove her back down.

“I said no,” Trish said, now outright ordering Jessica. “Lie there and let me do it.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t even have let you walk in here. I should’ve fucking carried you. Or gotten you a damn ambulance.”

“Put me in a hospital?” Jessica grinned in a lame attempt at a joke. “You’re not that mad at me, are you?”

“Oh, I am,” Trish assured her, the heat in her voice scorching even as she was exceedingly careful to rub the lotion into Jessica’s body. Her touch was a light caress no matter how acerbic her words were. “And I’m mad at me and I’m mad at that fucking maniac who did this to you and I’m mad at the whole goddamn world. I’m mad at my mom for sticking us together for a PR stunt and I’m mad at you again for being the best damn friend I could ask for at the same time you are the most frustrating person I have ever met. And I’m mad at me because I keep trying to figure you out even when there’s no goddamn answer and I should just let you drink yourself into the stupor that you clearly love more than me—“

“Trish,” Jessica said weakly. How the hell could Trish’s voice be so ragged with emotion when her hands were as coolly efficient as a machine? No, no machine could display the care and warmth that Trish did as she stooped over Jessica’s hurting body.

“And obviously I’m mad at that fucking tool with the acid and the world that made him and let him run around and is probably going to let him out of jail with a stern warning for some damn reason or another. Did I mention I was mad at my mom?”

“Trish,” Jessica said, forcing strength into her voice. “I’m sorry I sang that damn song, okay? I wasn’t thinking. I’m a fucking idiot, okay? A total retard.”

Trish let out a lengthy exhale. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Jessica would kick herself if she didn’t hurt so much. _Day late and a dollar short, Jewel, as usual._

“You shouldn’t say retard,” Trish said at last. “It’s offensive.”

“Well, that’s how much of an idiot I am. I am _offensively_ idiotic.”

Trish sucked in another breath. She heaved shakily, not like she was on the verge of tears, but like she’d just had a crying fit and was now recovering. If anyone could compress a good cry into five clenched seconds, it was Trish. “How’s the lotion feel?”

“It’s nice,” Jessica said. “Better than I deserve.”

And she liked the feel of Trish’s hands, how Trish stroked her gently like she was polishing some precious treasure. She could feel the anesthetic in the lotion working, letting her forget how fucked up she was, at least in one tiny aspect of her life.

“Enough with the self-pity, too. If you really want to make it up to me, you can give yourself a break.”

Jessica lifted her head—apparently the pain had passed enough for her to do that without wincing. “Trish Walker tells me this? Radio host, heal thyself.”

“I’m a work in progress. You’d know that if you listened to the show.”

Jessica shook her head. The sensuous feel of Trish’s hands on her body was erasing the memory of the pain like it’d never happened. “Trish, I always listen to the show. Of course I do.”

Trish let out an uncomfortable chortle in disbelief—not that she thought Jessica was lying to her, but it was all so insane… “What, do you need to get ideas for what _not_ to do for your mental health?”

“I like hearing you talk,” Jessica said. “And the radio seems like the one way I can do that without managing to piss you off.”

“I’m that high-strung, huh?”

“No, I’m that much of a bitch.”

“I thought you were giving yourself a break.”

“Okay,” Jessica shrugged equitably. “You are high-strung.”

“Thank you.”

Jessica paused a moment. “Trish?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t stop touching me.”

There it was. Whatever was happening between them, Jessica didn’t want it to stop. Moreover, she was ready to cop to that. Trish sputtered in disbelief—talk about giving herself a break. Then she kept rubbing Jessica.

“You really do have a great body, Jess. So soft and tender and… smooth. I’ve always loved touching it.”

“I’m a sickly little stick insect,” Jessica said as Trish rubbed the lotion into her belly, lower and lower. “It must drive you nuts that my skinny ass has superpowers and your golden goddess yoga body doesn’t.”

Trish smiled. Her hand went further down. “No… it bugs me that you’re taller than me. You wear those fucking combat boots and I traipse around in five-foot heels and that only puts us eye to eye.”

“You like the boots,” Jessica teased.

“You know one of my boyfriends said you had coltish legs once?”

“Yeah? Which one?” Jessica asked. Then she gasped—Trish gently running her hand over Jessica’s sex, halfway between fondling it and applying the salve. Her arousal gathered on her mons, mixed with what Trish was applying. Jessica wondered if that tipped the balance one way or another. “Jesus, Walker… Jesus… the fuck do you get off being so good at this?”

“Maybe you’re just an easy lay,” Trish taunted her.

“No—no, no, no—if I’d fucking known you knew my cunt better than a Hitachi…”

“You knew,” Trish said firmly. “Remember our first time?”

“Fuck, _Trish—“_

Jessica reached for her, but Trish took her hand away, stilling Jessica with one hard look. “Don’t move. You’re injured.”

“My pussy isn’t,” Jessica reasoned.

Trish rolled her eyes. Some days, she didn’t know how Jessica could live with calling herself a detective. “Just lie there. Let me take care of it.”

Jessica actually growled, low in her throat. The flow of her juices only grew, and Trish massaged it into her thighs as lovingly, as arousingly, as she had the ointment.

“Trish… your hands feel amazing… so fucking amazing…”

“Shh,” Trish told her. “ _Shhhh.”_

Jessica closed her eyes tightly as she came, bursting, exploding, on fire, the feeling so intense it was next to pain, but cleaner and more sweet than pain could ever be. God, she was an easy lay, but only for Trish. For Trish, she was the world’s biggest slut.

Trish rolled Jessica over, taking up position behind her as the big spoon. It still stung a little for Jessica to be touched, but Trish had judged correctly that it was worth it for Jessica to feel her closeness. Physical satiation piled on top of her exhaustion, the relief of pain, the sheer emotional comfort that Trish offered. Her twenty-four-seven anxiety eased up without a drop of alcohol. Jessica breathed in and smelled Trish’s perfume everywhere. What the fuck—was she in love or something?

“Trish, I… you…”

“ _Shhhh,”_ Trish repeated. “Shut the fuck up, Jones. Seriously.”

“Always telling me what to do,” Jessica groused sweetly.

“Yeah. Shut up and get some sleep. And don’t try to tell me you need another round. I felt how hard you came and you nearly broke my finger. The edge is well and truly off.”

“Just like the first time,” Jessica sighed. “I don’t want to fuck it up now like I did then.”

“Why do you think I told you to be quiet?”

Jessica’s lips wobbled. She wished she could hold it in. She couldn’t, though, and she was also grateful for that. “Stay?”

“You know I will.”

“Yeah, but—thanks. This time, thanks.”


	2. Teenage Wasteland

Trish’s flashlight briefly flittered over the covers above their heads, before focusing on the open magazine and its glossy pages. There was a handsome college boy and a beautiful girl the same age. Both of them were naked. The girl had the boy’s cock in her mouth.

“Look at her suck that thing,” Trish giggled. “How the fuck did she get that much into her mouth?”

“It is pretty big,” Jessica agreed, almost involuntarily. The girl was kneeling in front of the boy, his cock halfway into her mouth. He was so hung that Jessica thought the tip would be somewhere down her throat, so why did she look so happy? That thing had to be choking her.

Really, Jessica would’ve rather aimed her flashlight at Trish. Trish was taller than her mother now and she’d dyed her long, thick hair a deep red that made her look ravishing. She was still a teenager, but her body was something else entirely, as luscious and sensual as an adult could possibly be—miles away from the malnourished, sun-starved scrawniness Jessica saw in her mirror.

It was amazing that they were sleeping in the same bed; they didn’t look like they were the same species. And Trish had those nice, full breasts. Jessica had nothing like those. Most guys couldn’t take their eyes off of Trish’s melons. And it seemed like her nipples were always hard.

Trish turned the page. Her flashlight glared over its contents again. “You think that’s big? What about these?”

The guys in the picture were having a literal cock-measuring contest. All of them were so huge that Jessica thought it had to be Photoshop.

“Oh, they’re real,” Trish said, seeming to read Jessica’s mind. “You can tell by the veins—ever had one as big as those?”

“About,” Jessica bluffed.

“Yeah, my boyfriends have all been nothing compared to these guys.” Trish turned the page a little wistfully. “I wish I could meet someone this big.”

“Geez,” Jessica exclaimed, seeing a girl bent down on all fours, facing away from the man and the rigid cock that was buried almost entirely in her asshole.

“Silly boy. Doesn’t even know which hole it goes in,” Trish quipped.

Jessica bit her lip, wondering how much those two could’ve been paid for a picture like this. What if someone recognized them? Wouldn’t their lives be over? Still, Jessica found herself wishing she knew a guy that big.

“Can you imagine how that must feel?” Trish breathed in her ear. “When it’s all the way in?”

Jessica shook her head. “It’s fake. It must be fake. A guy’s thing just wouldn’t fit in there.”

“Sure it would. Your asshole goes up into your stomach, and that goes up into your mouth, so anything that can fit in your mouth can fit up there.”

“But it would _hurt!_ ” Jessica protested.

“Well, isn’t it worth hurting some for a guy that big? Just imagine how it would feel in your pussy. That’d be worth having it in your ass.”

Jessica pushed Trish’s flashlight away from the picture. “A good boyfriend wouldn’t ask you to do something that hurt. I mean, what’s wrong with my pussy? Why can’t he just put it in my puss?”

Trish focused her flashlight back on the picture. “Maybe she likes it. She certainly looks like she likes it.”

“She’s pretending.”

“I don’t think I could pretend with something that big up my ass.”

“Well, it’s Photoshopped too, so…”

“It’s Photoshopped and she’s pretending?” Trish asked. “What’s next, are you going to tell me it’s really a drawing?”

Jessica turned the page for Trish, who proved easily distracted by the next picture. So was Jessica, though she more wondered what was going through the heads of the girls in the pictures. One girl sucking a guy’s balls, another his cockhead, another licking his shaft, and another straddling his face? Were they all paid the same or did they only get a fourth as much as the one girl who’d taken him in her ass? The girl with the ass certainly deserved more—that looked like a lot more work.

The next page had two women. One was flat on her back, her legs spread apart. The other woman had a dildo strapped to a harness on her waist. She was thrusting it inside of the first woman. Jessica couldn’t stop looking at it.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to get a big cock,” Trish commented. “Just buy one. Big as you like.”

Hearing Trish say that, still looking at the picture, Jessica felt a ticklish feeling in her clit. She moved to adjust her nightie, pulling it so the hem would be between her legs, help hide her—status.

Trish saw her flushed face, the slight trembling in Jessica’s hand as she tried to aim her flashlight not particularly at the picture while not taking the beam of light off it either. “I have one, you know.”

“One what?” Jessica asked.

“A dildo. It even has straps. You wanna try it? It’s better than touching yourself.”

“No… no, I couldn’t…” Jessica said, but Trish was already out of bed, going to her closet. “You can’t possibly have one.”

“You think my mom cares what I do or don’t have so long as I have the right dress size?” Trish opened up one of the fan mail packages she usually left unopened, but let pile up in her room in a combination of defiance and self-recrimination. She took what looked like a garter belt out of it. “She checks for chocolate, not cock.”

And then Trish attached the dildo to it… Jessica put one hand on the arm that held her flashlight, just to be sure she wouldn’t shine it on Trish. “What’s that thing?” Jessica asked, playing as dumb as possible.

“You know what it is,” Trish laughed. “What do you wanna do with it? Suck it? Ride it?” Trish shook it around. “Maybe take it up the ass.”

Now Jessica turned her flashlight off. “Cut it out, Trish. You’re being weird.”

“There’s no such thing as weird in show business. I’m _particular_.” Trish came over to stand by the side of the bed, dangling the dildo in Jessica’s face, and Jessica couldn’t believe the size of it. “It’s Patsy, Patsy… I’m here to entertain you, numbnuts… make you feel good… help you relax…”

“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” Jessica rolled over, facing away from the strap-on, but didn’t close her eyes.

“Bullshit. You’re not tired. Look at you. You’re all turned on. I thought you were frigid, but real cocks aren’t what you’re into, huh? At least, not as much as _this.”_

Jessica squeezed her thighs together. “Stop acting like everyone wants to fuck you just because you have tits now.”

Trish picked up some hand lotion from the nightstand. She poured it across the dildo and nonchalantly rubbed it around the dildo’s length. “Don’t be angry, Jess. I know you’ve wanted to fuck me for a while now. Back then, you wanted to hug me, then you wanted to kiss me… now this is what you want.”

“You’re deluded. You show me a bunch of sex pictures, then when I get turned on, you say I’m hot for you.”

“Okay then. Look at me. Look at me like I’m just some girl wearing a hunk of plastic and you don’t give a shit.”

Jessica thrust herself the other way, saw Trish pulling up her nightgown, exposing the fine hairs of her crotch—even that looked perfect—and the dildo strapped to her groin, hanging between her legs like a man’s.

With Jessica watching, Trish knelt on the bed. The dildo was so close, closer than Jessica had ever been to a guy, but not as close as she’d been to Trish. She’d been in Trish’s arms, but not like this.

“Go on. Feel it,” Trish urged. “Just like the real thing, right? Maybe a little smoother. Not as warm. Does it matter, though? I don’t think anyone would really notice while it’s going in and out of you. There’s probably just this motion.”

As Trish spoke, soft and soothing, she reached down to lift Jessica’s nightgown. She gently caressed everything she revealed, running her other hand through Jessica’s pubic hair, up her belly, along the pert contours of her breasts. The nipples got stiffer and stiffer. Jessica couldn’t hide how she felt anymore.

“Squeeze my tits? It feels different when you do it—it feels right. Is the door locked?” Jessica whimpered. “What if your mom comes in? She has a key.”

“She’s also had a handful of pills and a fifth of gin,” Trish said. “She wouldn’t notice an earthquake right now. Relax, Jess. I know what it’s like. You’re tense. You need relief. I can give it to myself, but you, you’re just… fucked. You need someone to do it for you.”

Jessica pinched her lips together. “You could have anyone. Anybody you wanted.”

“You could’ve let my mom keep… being my mom. You didn’t.”

“So this is how you thank me?”

Trish shook her head. “I just want to make you feel good, Jess. Quit hating yourself for five minutes. Let me like you.”

Jessica gasped, thrilled, as Trish’s delicate fingers played over her swelling clitoris. She wanted more, but Trish didn’t give it to her. Not yet. Instead she bent down and kissed her. There was a softness, a tenderness, that Jessica could barely take without breaking. The reason why she didn’t hug, didn’t hold hands, shoved Trish away but now she couldn’t. Her body was gravitating to the feelings Trish was giving it while her mind was lost.

Trish kissed her deeper, tongue slipping inside her mouth, and Jessica’s hips churned as if she were touching herself. She wanted Trish, wanted to _be_ Trish’s, take her no matter how many layers of defense she’d put up between them.

Trish swung her leg over Jessica, now straddling her, the strap-on dragging across Jessica’s navel. “Do you want it inside you?” Trish breathed. “I want you to have it. I want to fuck you with it.”

Jessica couldn’t speak anymore. Her body was talking for her. All she had to do was give in and being close to Trish, it already felt so good…

She moaned, put her arms around Trish, crushing Trish’s luscious breasts to her own until they could’ve been hers. She pulled her gown off, throwing it onto the floor—Trish was already embracing her again, flesh against flesh, almost as if she were trying to get to the obscene desire Jessica felt deep inside herself. Jessica was past the point of no return, willing to let Trish do anything to her. Defenseless, unarmored, trusting Trish to love her the way she didn’t know how to love herself…

Trish’s fingers went back down to her cunt, her clit—it already seemed like a small eternity since she had touched her there. Jessica groaned as they gave her the ecstasy she’d nearly forgotten she’d wanted so much; it didn’t seem as important as how Trish had kissed her. The rosy lips of her sex parted under Trish’s touch, letting in sharp thrills that seemed to spill everywhere, resonate in Jessica’s swollen clit…

“I’m not supposed to come this fast,” Jessica moaned, all she could think with her cunt roiling, her hips working up and down like a musical instrument Trish’s fingers were playing.

“Maybe I want you to come,” Trish teased her. “Feel my cock. Do it.” She took Jessica’s right hand and pulled it down to the slippery dildo. The other went to her own pussy. “Play with my pussy, Jess. Jack off my cock.”

“Oh fuck,” Jessica breathed, pumping one hand on the dildo, the other hand stroking Trish’s labia. Her own pussy was wet, the center of the trembling that went through all her body.

“Fuck is right, baby,” Trish grinned. “All this fucking black hoodie, Nirvana shit—you just needed to get laid. I’m gonna help you out with that, Jessica. I’m gonna make you come like you fucking dream about when you touch herself.” Her voice dipped to a low whisper. “I’ll fuck you in the ass, Jess.”

Just hearing her, Jessica knew she wasn’t kidding. Trish really was going to feed that big dildo into her butt. Jessica sucked in her cheeks, trying to think what that might feel like. Despite her earlier misgivings, now she wanted it as bad as a drug. She wanted to give Trish anything she asked, so long as she kept being _hers._

Jessica started to roll over, but Trish didn’t want to be given, she wanted to take. She put the flat of her hand on the small of Jessica’s back and shoved her down, pressing her breasts into the mattress while keeping her ass in the air.

Taking up position behind her, Trish opened Jessica’s legs wider with her knees, then dropped her face to Jessica’s ass. Despite Jessica’s slenderness, her ass had some sizable curves, and Trish enjoyed the warm pressure on either side of her face while she ran her tongue between Jessica’s cheeks, lapping at her tiny anus to prepare it.

“I want your ass higher,” Trish said, and to her delight, Jessica obeyed, lifting up her ass in an open invitation of a gesture.

Trish didn’t know if Jessica was a virgin—the boundaries of their friendship had many jagged edges—but she could tell from how tight Jessica was that there was no way she wasn’t an anal virgin. Trish was going to claim that hole.

More than that, Jessica trusted her to fuck it, to give her pleasure no matter how much it might hurt. Trish felt a heady sense of power, and even more of warmth, having Jessica trust her that much.

Jessica wouldn’t have believed she trusted Trish that much either—had so many feelings for her that they swirled around until she couldn’t tell quite what they were, except for warm and fuzzy like those Disney movies they were both supposed to hate.

But she was waving her ass around, now knowing that Trish enjoyed the sight of it, wanted it. Her asshole, moist from Trish’s tongue, throbbed eagerly. She couldn’t imagine how it would feel when Trish’s cock was inside it.

“Now open up for me,” Trish said.

Jessica knew what she wanted—they weren’t sisters, but sometimes it was like they had the same mind, the same soul. She reached behind herself and opened up her buttocks with both hands, then tried to relax her muscles.

She didn’t know how Trish’s dildo would fit up her ass. It seemed like it would split her in half first. But if it did, she wouldn’t care. Her heart pounded down into the bedsprings of the mattress. Jessica felt alive.

She winced as the tip of the dildo went into her. She shivered from head to toe, now knowing that it was really happening, it was all going into her. It hurt! It was tight, too tight to possibly give into how big she knew the dildo to be. But Jessica felt exhilaration too. Trish was doing it. She was fucking her in the ass. Whatever else happened, this would always be theirs.

“Shit, Trish,” Jessica moaned, wiggling her ass around the impalement going further and further into it. “You always have been a pain in my ass…” She lifted her hips up, giving Trish more access to her asshole. She wanted more.

Trish laughed. She wanted to give Jessica more. “And you’ve always been a needy little bitch,” she said warmly. “Guess this is what you’ve been needing, huh?”

Trish took hold of Jessica’s narrow hips—so slim, so tomboyish—and pumped into her, watching in wonder as Jessica’s anus stretched to fit in her thick dildo. It took another few minutes and a careful dance of her hips, but finally she was all the way into Jessica.

Jessica panted for breath as Trish filled her to the brim over and over again. No matter how many times Trish hilted the dildo inside her, it always felt bigger, deeper. Thank God for the lubricant, sounding off wetly every time Trish entered her, letting the dildo slip almost effortlessly through the conquered territory Trish had made of her ass.

“Harder!” Jessica groaned, choking on her plea. “Oh, _oh… harder!”_

Trish fucked Jessica’s asshole as hard as she could, knowing that Jessica could take it, that Jessica was far stronger than her slender body would suggest.

Jessica’s body was on fire. She pulled a pillow underneath her head and buried her screaming mouth in it, acutely aware of everything around her. The sheets beneath her stained with sweat. The grunts Trish let out as she drove into Jessica’s body. Finally, her own impossible pleasure as it blossomed into something Jessica had never felt before, her body wanting nothing more than to serve Trish and knowing that Trish wanted her to come. She’d never orgasmed so hard before. Never.

“ _Hnnnn!”_ Trish groaned out, pulled along with Jessica’s orgasm, her cunt rubbing against the base of the strap-on. Maybe that was how attuned they were to each other. Jessica couldn’t imagine that she was getting off without Trish enjoying it.

Trish laid on top of her, face down on her back. Jessica inhaled and Trish exhaled, both of them glistening with what felt like the same sweat. Finally, Trish pulled out of her and laid down on the bed, her strap-on still erect in the air, which seemed horribly ironic for some reason. Jessica nestled against her and stroked the dildo a few times, which made Trish laugh.

“You’re mine,” Trish purred.

“Uh-huh,” Jessica agreed. “Just keep making me come like that.”

“You keep coming for me like that,” Trish told her. “Fuck, you came like you loved me.”

“You fucked me like you loved me.”

“I love your ass.”

“I love your strap-on. Maybe I should date it.”

“Go ahead. We’re not dating,” Trish grinned. “We’re fucking.”

“I don’t care what you call it. Just don’t stop.”


	3. Healing

Hours had passed. Jessica felt almost human, or whatever it was she was supposed to feel like when she was normal. She was still tired, but it had become something else, something cozy. And she knew that had everything to do with being in Trish’s arms. Fuck, the only thing that could make it better was if Trish had just fucked her. At a time like this, the last time Trish fucked her still felt good, no matter how many years tried to bury it.

Jessica groaned aloud. She was still in love with her high school crush. Her high school crush slash foster sister. Her life had become weirder than the weirdest porn she’d ever jilled off to. Her brushes with normalcy had all crashed and burned. Now it was back to usual. Back to fucked up. But as fucked up as she was, as Trish was, as they were together, wrong felt better than right ever had. Her brand of wrong. Trish’s brand of wrong. It had everything else beat to shit.

“Am I hurting you?” Trish asked, hearing the groan, uncoiling a little from her big spoon embrace of Jessica. “Holding you too tight?”

Jessica shook her head. She couldn’t even really feel the welts anymore. “I love it when you hold me too tight. And I love it when you hurt me.”

Trish stopped loosening her grip, but didn’t tighten it again either. The slackness was torture. “Ever hear of a dry-drunk?”

“Tell me to shut the fuck up again,” Jessica said, so solemnly that Trish almost did it by rote.

She’d do anything for Jessica. She just never quite knew what to do. “No,” Trish said.

“Okay then.” Jessica twisted around in Trish’s embrace so they were chest to chest, nothing platonic in their embrace, nothing sisterly. “I couldn’t risk it before, I ran from it in a million different directions, but I can’t tell anymore if I’m fucking you up or you’re fucking me up. I just want to go back to how things were.”

“How what was?” Trish insisted, knowing full well what Jessica meant.

“You know.”

“Tell me,” Trish instructed her firmly.

Jessica gulped. She was so used to Trish handling her with kid gloves that she wasn’t used to the commanding tone, the authority when she let Trish tell her what to do. “I want to be your bitch again. I want you to be my mistress. I wanna feel your cock up my ass. I wanna come like I only came for you.” She choked. “I wanna be in love like only you loved me.”

Trish shut her eyes. “You fucking idiot, you wasted so much time.” That was all she said before kissing Jessica, their mouths pressing together like they would never part.

Jessica tasted the familiar flavor of Trish’s lips and thought she could _feel_ all the bullshit that usually took up space in her head moving out. It had to make room for the good memories. She didn’t have many, but everything to do with Trish was sweet.

Trish sucked Jessica’s tongue between her teeth, gently biting down on it, reminding Jessica that she wasn’t going to be gentle, wasn’t going to let Jessica run roughshod over her like she did everyone else. If Jessica wanted to be her bitch, then she would be exactly that.

Making it particularly ironic that Jessica felt no pain as Trish ran her hands over Jessica’s lotion-slick body, healing, whole, the painkiller having relieved her suffering. Now all the sensations in her body belonged to Trish.

“Mine,” Trish purred, taking Jessica’s modest breast in her hand, squeezing just roughly enough to arouse some pain. Like the rasp of a cat’s tongue as it licked its owner. Not that Jessica thought she owned Trish, no more than anyone owned any cat. This little hellcat owned her.

“Uh-huh,” Jessica breathed.

“Not letting you go again,” Trish promised, molding her hand to the mound of flesh as if relearning its supple shape, committing it to memory, never to be forgotten.

The nipple became a fiery red, Jessica’s blood pounding in her breast with the fire Trish put it in. Trish took the erect button between her fingers and twisted it until Jessica moaned in relieved pain. Anyone else who messed with her like that would have their bones on the outside. But Trish—she belonged to Trish.

Maybe that was why the sweet pain she felt didn’t even seem to hurt. It was good torture, intense enough to break through the bullshit that life piled onto her and the loneliness Jessica gathered around herself. Trish’s fingers were feather light even as they dominated Jessica.

“What are you thinking about, Jess?” Trish asked.

Jessica was barely breathing. “Only you.”

Trish put her mouth to Jessica’s breast. “Then say my name.” She took Jessica’s tortured nipple into her mouth. She sucked.

All thoughts of acid and casework and booze and rent slipped out of Jessica’s mind. With Trish touching her, the bad fell off her, slippery like Trish’s hands roamed her oil-slick flesh. And the feel of Trish’s mouth around her nipple, and the sight of Trish’s golden blonde hair in its crazed disarray on Jessica’s chest, sticking to her lotioned body, even that seeming to claim her.

“Trish,” Jessica moaned. She felt bizarrely like she was praying. “Trish…”

Trish went to her other breast, tongue coming out to touch the marble of a nipple that was waiting expectantly for her. Trish drove her tongue straight into the hardness, crushing it into Jessica’s small breast, then pushed it around in a circle to stimulate it from every angle.

Jessica sounded like she was begging: “Trish—Trish—Trish.” She also sounded thankful, which Trish could barely recognize in her voice.

Trish went back to Jessica’s left nipple, more swollen than ever in her absence, in Jessica’s need. She drew it into her mouth, nipping at it lightly, Jessica gasping at every little touch of her teeth. Finally she caught the nipple in her teeth and dug into the firm nubbin. Jessica’s entire body surged.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop! Your fucking mouth… fucking making me come with your _mouth…”_

Trish had no intention of stopping, not ever again. She loved the taste of Jessica’s breasts. She wouldn’t do without them anymore. She tightened her lips around Jessica’s stinging nipple and lowered her hand down all of Jessica’s lithe body, between her legs.

Her fingers strayed through the jungle of Jessica’s pubic hair—as raw and roughhewn as the rest of her—and down over Jessica’s mound and all the way under it to get between her buttocks. She slid the pad of her middle finger across Jessica’s asshole. Jessica’s eyes fluttered in their sockets.

“That’s mine too,” Trish reminded her.

Jessica smirked weakly at her. “If it’s yours,” she sighed, “then fuck it.”

Trish’s finger slunk away—now circling around in the tangled thatch of Jessica’s pubic hair, stirring them and pulling at them, making the buried nerve endings play to her tune. “Don’t tell me what to do, Jess. From now on, I give the orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jessica said sardonically, almost tossing off a salute to go with it.

Trish pushed down hard on the pubic bone, then moved to bathe her fingers in Jessica’s flowing juices. “Say that like you mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jessica said, softer, breathing less.

Trish worked two fingers inside of her. Jessica jerked like she’d been shot. “Fuck!”

Trish pulled her hand away, worried she’d injured Jessica. But she didn’t see anything on her fingers but Jessica’s lust.

Jessica took her hand and guided it back between her legs. “I didn’t realize how sensitive you’d made me. Christ, nothing else feels like you feel. You hurt so good…”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Trish protested.

Jessica almost growled with need. “It only hurt for a second. Then it felt good. Please, Trish. I promise it doesn’t really hurt. It just… it’s so _real…”_

Trish’s fingertips traced the slickness of Jessica’s cunt, as if searching for any pain, anything that would drive her to call off what she was doing. She sealed the delicate pink folds between her fingers and ran her grip tantalizingly along Jessica’s slit. She worked her fingernails inside and along the petals of Jessica’s cunt, driving Jessica to breathe like the air was electric, and then she came to the tiny bud of Jessica’s clit.

Trish toyed with the small button, played with it in the certainty that she owned it, and Jessica let out a soft groan of pleasure that could only come from being owned. Her whole body heaved and clenched as Trish stroked from the slightly broad base all the way to the miniscule tip. There, Trish pushed down the swollen flesh, and as Jessica’s passion was at an apex, she let it go to spring back to attention.

Jessica moaned louder. “Good! So fucking good! Suck on it, Trish! Please suck me there…”

“And if I do…” Trish started down Jessica’s body, crawling backwards and getting closer and closer to the source of the throbbing she could actually see going through Jessica’s flesh. “You’ll come for me? Like a good girl?”

“I’ll come for you, yes, I’ll come for you! I’ll be a good girl and come!”

Trish lowered her head down to Jessica’s groin, licking up her girlfriend’s arousal like she was kittenishly lapping up milk from a saucer. Jessica let out a sob—so close and yet so far away. She pulled at her own hair, unwilling to complain, but needing Trish to keep going so badly.

“Sweet, baby,” Trish sighed, though tasting the salt and the tang and the slight alkaline flavor of the ointment that she’d applied. But above all else, tasting Jessica. “You’re just so fucking sweet…”

Trish’s wet tongue, just rough enough to be interesting, coursed along her pussy lips. They left Jessica feeling like a woman, not a piece of meat, not a weapon. She relaxed at the same time as she tensed, luxuriating in the feeling that was destroying her. When Trish’s tongue played along her engorged clit, Jessica came then and there.

Trish’s mouth didn’t just make Jessica feel like she was in Heaven, it made her believe in a Heaven to be in. The sensation stopped shuddering through her, but left a warmth that Jessica could fucking bathe in. And Trish wasn’t letting up. She had told Jessica to come for her and just once wasn’t good enough. Her tongue slotted into Jessica’s sex. Trish’s inner folds rippled around the feeling that rolled around inside her. When Trish drank the cream that was welling up inside her, Jessica climaxed again.

Both pain and pleasure were in her tattered flesh, all of her nerves holding some of each. The good came from Trish, as usual, shining into Jessica like a warm light. The bad was all over her battered body, clinging to her like mud. But it couldn’t win. Trish made her just keep coming and coming, Jessica writhing underneath her, moaning and screaming, fuck her neighbors, she’d listened to their bullshit for years, they could listen to how fucking happy she was for one night.

Trish groaned. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to taste your pussy again?”

“Fuck, babe, mistress, please tell me I came enough for you?”

Trish raised her head, smiled through a faceful of Jessica’s honey. “What do you think?”

“Good.” Jessica rolled over, lifted up the heart-shaped ass that bulged out from her slight frame, showing Trish the sphincter that was throbbing for her between her buttocks. “I need it in the ass, Trish. I need you to fuck my ass. I need to be your anal bitch again.”

“Jesus Christ, Jess,” Trish said, unable to believe what she was seeing, what Jessica was offering her. An hour ago Jessica had been laid up in bed, taking her usual dose of Trish’s grudgingly unconditional support. A day ago, Trish had been pissed at Jessica for being Jessica. Now all of that tradition had broken down. Jessica’s need was right out there with Trish’s own.

“Dildo under the mattress,” Jessica said. “Right side. It’s big enough. Shit, I think about you when I use it anyway.”

Trish found it—a big black shaft. She doubted she was the only one who Jessica thought about when she used it. But from now on, she swore, when Jessica got fucked, she’d know it was Trish who owned her ass. She quickly lubed up the dildo, same lotion as before, and spat into Jessica’s asshole. That was the only lubrication an anal slut like Jessica needed.

Crouching behind Jessica’s prone body, Trish tightened her grip on the dildo and fitted its tip to the tightly muscled ring of Jessica’s asshole. With her other hand, she dug her fingers into Jessica’s hip to hold them steady. Then she pushed in hard, stabbing the first few inches of the dildo into the taboo pressure that was hers once more.

Jessica grunted, grimaced, enjoying herself obscenely as she felt her asshole forcibly being stretched. The stiffness of the dildo lodged inside her--Trish refused to be denied. Jessica was hers: pleasure, submission, all of her was offered up to Trish on demand.

“Oh yes, fuck me!” Jessica cried, actual tears in her eyes. “My ass belongs to you! My ass is fucking yours, Trish!” She delivered herself to the dildo, pistoning and grinding her ass into its own impalement. “So fucking good—only thing that feels good—doesn’t hurt—doesn’t hurt _enough—_ ggghh! Fuck my ass until it hurts! Fuck my ass until I come for you!”

“Fucking slut,” Trish spat, pulling out until only the tip of the dildo was still inside the ring, then packing it all back in. Jessica squealed as Trish filled her ass. “I broke this ass in and I’m still the only one who knows how to fuck it.”

Now, much as she wanted to outright ruin her own hole on Trish’s cock, Jessica forced herself to hold still and let Trish sodomize her. It got easier. Jessica was soon unable to move even if she wanted to, her eyes rolled back in her head as Trish rhythmically pistoned the dildo into Jessica’s welcoming ass.

“Harder, fuck my ass harder!” Jessica’s squeals had gotten so loud they could probably hear her all the way from the Bronx to Hell’s Kitchen, all of her little Defender friends knowing she was getting fucked, getting goddamn plowed like the slut she was, the bitch Mistress Trish owned. “ _Unh! Unh! Uhhh!_ I’m so fucking horny! Such a fucking slut for this!”

Trish smiled. She thought of whispering to Jessica that Matt Murdock, at least, could probably hear what an anal whore she was, but thought better of it. Jessica was too far gone to grasp anything at that point. Trish would tell her before round two. Once her asshole had healed enough for Trish to destroy it all over again.

“Jerk yourself off!” Trish ordered her. “Make yourself come for me.”

“Yes, yes Trish, anything…” Shamelessly Jessica jerked her hand down under her belly, filling her cunt with her own fingers. “Shit, I’m coming! Fuck me, fuck the come right out of me, your fat cock—I’m coming, mistress, I’m coming on your cock in my _asssss…”_

Jessica’s splayed anus throbbed violently, bringing a smile to Trish’s face as it convulsively sucked at the dildo. Trish gave it all it could take, burying the dildo up Jessica’s ass to the point of losing it. Thankfully, she was too responsible to let that happen. Jessica would’ve fucking sat on the thing if it got her off.

Finally, when Jessica was loose and crying and soft, Trish pulled the dildo away and tossed it aside, then climbed back up the bed to be the big spoon again. Jessica flowed into her embrace like she was a puddle being picked up by a sponge. Trish petted her, stroked her, now only feeling the creamy perfection of her flawless skin.

“Mine,” she said, petting Jessica’s hair, soft as her supple flesh.

“Uh-huh,” Jessica agreed.

“You have ten minutes to enjoy the afterglow. Then you’re going down there and you’re eating my pussy.”

“No wonder you have your own talk show. Always giving such good advice.”

“That wasn’t advice, bitch. If you don’t do it, I’m taking my belt to your ass until you need a whole new coat of paint.”

Jessica grinned. It was fucked up, but she liked dominant Trish a lot better than nagging Trish. Not that she’d ever say so—not before she was ready for that belt on her ass. For now, there was no way she was missing out on getting to make her mistress come.

She’d missed out enough already.


	4. Mother

“I’m _busy!”_ was how Jessica Jones answered the phone, and the only excuse for her lack of etiquette was that she _was_ busy. Files and documents littered the folding card table that had been the only open surface in her apartment before she started her deep dive into the life of the missing August Krohn. He was so improbably named that there had to be some good cheese at the end of the maze.

Four hours later, she had found nothing except a higher phone bill as she checked out every known associate, ran down every lead, and double-checked every reference she could get out before going outside. It had her in a mood, and being in a mood made Jessica even more fussy, especially since she couldn’t have a drink. Drinks hadn’t actually made her happy, but they’d made her like being surly a lot more. If other people hated dealing with her, how much more did she hate having to deal with herself?

“Hello to you too,” Trish replied, and it might be a sign that they were soulmates that she ended up bemused by the foul tone in Jessica’s voice.

Jessica’s brow furrowed, eyes twitching in panic, but even if she was intimate enough with Trish now to regret yelling at her, she didn’t have the words to take it back. “What do you want?” she asked, lowering her voice like she was trying to attract a deer with baby talk. Hoping that sufficed as an apology.

It didn’t, but Trish would take that up with her in their next disciplinary session. “Heard you have a case. How long have you been working on it, anyway?”

“Since this morning,” Jessica answered with a smidgen of pride.

“You had anything to eat?”

“ _No,”_ Jessica scoffed. “I said I was busy, Trish.”

“Go get something to eat and I’ll write off you being _rude_ as hunger pangs.”

“Trish, I’m _busy_ ,” Jessica insisted for the third time.

She could almost see Trish shift the phone in her hand, press it tighter to her ear and lips. “Are you wearing it?”

Jessica moved to cradle her phone’s mouthpiece, as if someone might overhear. With how thin the walls in this dump were, someone actually might, but being shy was still a new experience for her. “Of course I’m wearing it—mistress.”

“Good,” Trish said sharply. “Then you haven’t forgotten who you belong to. Because I sure wouldn’t forget if I had a buttplug jammed up my ass.”

“No, mistress,” Jessica whimpered.

“So get off the phone, go to the fridge, and make yourself lunch. I got you some bread and cheese and lunchmeat this weekend, so you should be able to manage _something.”_

“Yes, mistress.”

“ _Go,”_ Trish insisted. “We need to keep you fighting fit. You know I love seeing you drag that fat, juicy ass of yours around in those skinny bitch jeans of yours. Forget about keeping your asshole loose for my strap. I want to walk around town with my hand in your backpocket, feeling that big butt of yours with every step you take. I don’t want you wasting away like some heroin-chic supermodel, getting yourself a flat, bony ass that I can’t enjoy fucking. Your ass is mine and I want a nice, plush cushion to take the impacts when I’m fucking your hole. You want that too, right?”

Jessica felt like wailing. Trish was punishing her. Not like spanking her, not like pulling her hair, but _torturing_ her by getting her all revved up and then making her wait for satisfaction, with nothing to do but be obedient and think about how much she loved being Trish’s bitch. God, how was she supposed to work when all she could think about was how much Trish enjoyed the pillowy flesh she was sitting on?

“You sound out of breath,” Trish teased. Jessica could see the smug look on her face like she was having a psychic vision. “You’re not getting worked up, are you? Feeling naughty? If you listened to my show, you’d know there’s nothing kinky or taboo about enjoying anal sex, even sadomasochistic practices. It’s all perfectly natural.”

“Liar,” Jessica wheezed. “If you talked about doing anal and spanking bitches on your show, I’d still be masturbating to it.”

“You’re all class, Jess.” Then, like the Devil Herself, Trish added: “You wanna beg me to let you come?”

Jessica shut her eyes. Fuck. Phone sex. Shit. That was all she needed. Being Trish’s digital age bitch. It was enough to make her foam at the mouth. “N-no… you gave me an order. I need to go have lunch.”

“Like a good girl,” Trish prompted.

“Like a good girl,” Jessica agreed. “Bye.”

“Have some vegetables with your sandwich,” Trish added rapidly.

“Jesus, Walker.”

“And no soda. Water or milk or juice _only_.”

“ _Holy shit._ ”

“And of course I know there’s no way you’re thinking about having a beer, so I don’t even have to mention that.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, Jess. Bye.” Then, like she was spitting on a vanquished opponent, Trish said: “You have my permission to come.”

On that casually dropped bombshell, she hung up.

Jessica stiffened, felt her pussy clench like Trish was in the room, dressed like a dominatrix, ready to use her up like a full tank of gas on a road trip to Vegas. Christ Almighty. Much more of this and she’d fucking squirt.

Jessica got up—gasping as her panties shifted over her moist, sensitive mound—and made her way from what she laughably referred to as the dining room to what she hilariously referred to as the kitchen.

She scrupulously filled a paper plate as instructed, then stuffed it in the microwave for nuclear testing. People thought Trish was so nice. She was the fucking devil incarnate. Trying to make Jessica Jones go to hell for the sin of enjoying being fucked in the ass too much.

Her stomach grumbled. Now that she’d stopped to think about it, she really was hungry. So it only made sense that someone knocked at the door just as the microwave rang. Jessica groaned and shut off the microwave’s trilling, then stomped her way to the front door. Normally, this would’ve called for a more profane version of ‘I’m busy,’ but she’d vented her rudeness with Trish. Even if she doubted it was Trish there, checking up on her after the phone call, she didn’t want to batter some stranger with her bitchiness. Not with Trish on her mind, frowning with disapproval.

She opened the door and momentarily hated Trish for civilizing her. She was off on the wrong foot, not being a rude bitch. It was Dorothy Walker. Trish’s mother.

“What do you want?” Jessica asked, trying to regain lost ground, but Dorothy steamrolled over her.

“Have you seen Trish lately? I’ve been trying to reach her but she isn’t answering her phone. Is she here?” Dorothy concluded the barrage with a sniff of disdain, almost _pro forma_.

“No, but she just called me, she’s fine.”

“She called you?” Dorothy asked, the three simple words crackling with doubt, suspicion, and disbelief.

Jessica reached out to lean against the doorframe, barring the way to Dorothy and displaying her arrogance. “Yeah. We do talk from time to time. Maybe you should’ve tried it once in a while.”

Another sniff. Probably a cocaine habit. “Well, as successful as Trish has been, all the money in the world can’t buy taste.”

“How much taste can you have if you want all the money in the world?” Jessica retorted smugly.

Dorothy’s eyes narrowed. “Just because my daughter sees you as a charity case—an idea I unfortunately fobbed on her, you’ll remember—don’t think you’re anything special to her. You’re about the only person in this city she can look down on as more screwed up than her.”

Jessica scoffed. “You think that’s it, huh? That Trish is running some one-woman soup kitchen and I’m her best customer? She actually likes spending time with me. As crazy and fucked up and… _cracked_ as I am, she’d rather be with me than you. Than anyone. Must make you shit yourself, knowing she can forgive someone being a mess, she just can’t forgive you.”

Dorothy rolled her entire head with her eyes. “I’m sure she’s got you thinking that. Trish always did have talent, even if she never wanted to really apply herself.”

Jessica was used to taking abuse hurled at her, but the barbs directed at Trish had her seeing red. Maybe it was the hunger pangs, but before she could think better of it, she turned around and unbuckled the leather belt around her waist. Thinking of how Trish had cooed to her about liking her fat ass. _Yeah, well let’s see if it runs in the family, Trish._

She dropped her jeans and panties, showing Dorothy her naked ass and the buttplug studded in her hole, holding it open for Trish’s use. “You’re right, Dorothy, Trish does have talent. But she _definitely_ applies herself. Look what she did to my asshole. Now _that_ takes skill. Believe me, I’ve been drunk enough to have plenty of anal sex, but Trish makes me come every time. Hell, she makes up for lost time. I have fucking multiples with her and I still beg for more. And as if there’s any doubt that she owns my ass, I wear this to remind me of my place. Think you love Trish that much? To spend every waking moment remembering that you belong to her?”

Dorothy sputtered in disbelief. Jessica turned around, proudly displaying her muff. Even with Dorothy there, talking about Trish, bringing her dominance to the forefront of Jessica’s mind, it made her wet. If Trish were there, Jessica would’ve bent over for her right then. If Dorothy didn’t want to see what a top her daughter was, she could fucking leave.

“And by the way, I lost my virginity to her. We’ve been doing this since we were teenagers. I was just too stupid to know what I’ve got, kinda like you were. But unlike you, I got her to take me back. Now I’m having the best sex of my life. So—thanks for introducing me to your daughter. I’m her fucking girlfriend.”

Dorothy shook her head with a spastic twitch. “You’re sick. Delusional. This is all in your head. My daughter would never—she isn’t—you’re _beneath her.”_

“You’re goddamn right I am,” Jessica nodded. “It’s called bottoming. Turns out I’m _really_ good at it.”

That was all Dorothy could take. She turned on her heels and marched off. Jessica watched her go, satisfied with her latest bad decision, until she remembered she was standing bottomless in the doorway of her apartment. She closed the door before any of her neighbors could get a peek.

***

Jessica pulled the bathrobe tight around herself, like a straitjacket. Her heart was pounding in her chest, transmitting a drumbeat up to the hot blood in her temples. She knew what was going to happen—or at least, what she hoped would happen—and it frightened her as much as it thrilled her. It also embarrassed her a little, but she had learned to love that. Learned to admit she loved it.

“We can’t answer the phone like a surly teenager whose cigarettes got confiscated, _Jessica,”_ Trish said, firmly but mannered, like Jessica had called into her show for advice instead of receiving it _gratis_. “Imagine if I had been a prospective client. Or even a repeat customer. I know most people that come to you are desperate, nowhere else to turn, but for those with options, let’s at least try to make you a viable alternative to the forty other detective agencies in town?”

She was naked, she was wearing a strap-on whose harness was hardly a concession to modesty, but despite the fact that Jessica’s bathrobe covered her from head to toe, she didn’t feel at all more empowered than Trish. She felt enslaved to the mere sight of the blonde.

Jessica wanted to fall down on her knees and worship. She wanted to kiss Trish’s foot, but Trish was wearing high heels. She didn’t need that dominatrix touch to enrapture Jessica, but she wasn’t adverse to using overkill when it came to tormenting her willing bitch.

Jessica put up a little fight. It was cathartic and she knew Trish enjoyed it. It got her in the mood. “I don’t want to wear this,” she fumed. “Can’t I just get naked? You can fuck me, spank me, make me eat your ass…”

Trish laughed. “You’ve begged me to do all that too many times for me to consider those punishments.”

“But Trish, c’mon. You’re triggering me!”

“I am not and don’t joke about that. You’re not triggered, you’re embarrassed. Which is how you should feel after how you acted.”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Jessica protested.

“Then you should’ve checked your caller ID. Enough backtalk. This isn’t a debate. Take the robe off and show me how you look.”

Jessica’s fingers numbly pulled at her belt. She stopped and made one last-ditch effort. “ _Please,_ Trish? Let me go rip this thing up and I’ll never do it again. And you can fuck me up the ass. It’s a win-win!”

Trish’s eyes narrowed. “Are you implying there’s a time when I _can’t_ fuck you up the ass? Because I gave you the buttplug specifically so that hole of yours is ready for me morning, noon, and night. You haven’t lost it, have you? Taken it out to attend to business and then had it make its way to the dumpster.”

That, of all things, made Jessica blush. “You know I wouldn’t do that, Trish, c’mon.”

Trish smirked. “So you can accept wearing a buttplug but not dressing like the Avengers? _Earth’s Mightiest Heroes?”_

Jessica nearly whimpered. “I said I’d be good,” she keened lowly.

“Oh, you certainly will.” Trish gave her a big smile. “Jessica—this looks like a job for Jewel!”

Jessica bit her lip. There was nothing more she could do. She opened her robe and let it fall off her shoulders. Underneath, she wore a pure white leotard, no shoulders, more of a tube top mixed with footie pajamas. Blue trim at the waist and upper hem. Pink costume jewelry, like an off-center belt buckle, was at her hip. She wore blue gloves and white boots and if Trish wanted her to dye her hair pink, she could fucking flog her, because Jessica wasn’t doing it this side of the heat death of the universe. And it was skintight, which meant it was obvious Jessica wasn’t wearing a bra or panties under it. _That,_ Trish had been explicit about.

Jessica felt the thin material clinging to every inch of her anatomy, Trish’s eyes close behind, exploring her revealed physique as though she hadn’t seen Jessica naked countless times.

Jessica felt like stomping one of her spangly white boots. “I wasn’t even that bad!” she whined. “I was _rude to you_ on the _phone!_ I’ve done so much worse than that! Shouldn’t we save the superhero bullshit for when I murder someone?”

“Maybe,” Trish mused, “but I’ve been really eager to punish you this way.”

“No shit,” Jessica said. “How long have you even had this costume?”

“First paycheck from the radio station went to a boutique that specialized in high-end Avengers costumes. Had to pay a mark-up to get a custom job. I thought you could start wearing it once you pulled your head out of your ass and used your powers for good, but apparently you couldn’t do that without me spanking you, so it’s been gathering dust in my closet until _now.”_

Jessica snickered. “In this fantasy of yours where I join the Avengers, do I get to wear panties?”

Trish only smiled. “Why don’t you turn around and let me see it from behind? You know—like you’re running off to vanquish evil, leaving a member of your adoring public in your wake?”

Jessica growled as she turned. “I’ve saved your life, y’know,” she groused. “Most people would be grateful.”

“I’m special and unique and you look too damn good in that outfit, baby. You wear that around, I’ll be able to tell if you’ve eaten just by how much that fat ass jiggles.”

Trish bit the inside of her cheek to look at Jessica’s spectacular ass, the skintight white suit making it look better than perfect, contrasting deliciously with the dark hair that hung down to the small of her back. It wasn’t so tight, though, that it revealed the buttplug between Jessica’s succulent cheeks. Trish wondered how much tighter it would have to be to show that off. Probably it’d get to the point where it was cutting off Jessica’s circulation. But Jessica was a superhero. How much blood flow did she really need? Medically speaking?

“Arch your back,” Trish ordered. “Stick that big ass out. You do want me to fuck your ass, right?”

Jessica groaned as she followed instructions. The next time she answered the phone, she would be Ms. Goddamn Congeniality.

Trish came up behind her—put her hand on Jessica’s ass and stroked it through the thin covering of her costume. Jessica made a defiant show of ignoring the caress, so Trish slipped her hand between Jessica’s svelte thighs until she felt the heat of her cunt, its wetness through the costume. Jessica was just as hot as Trish was, she realized, and the brunette whimpered as Trish rubbed her right through the tight leotard.

“I think you like wearing the costume, Jessica. You put up a big fuss, but you like looking all nice and pretty for me. My Avenger. My perfect, beautiful superhero.”

“I… I like the way you look at me,” Jessica admitted. “But can’t I wear something a little more dignified for pervert time? Like a Hooters uniform?”

Trish ignored her. “Oh, Jewel, you’re so courageous. How can I ever repay you for saving my life?”

“I have a Ko-fi page,” Jessica quipped.

Trish ignored her some more, all but her body, gently fingering the zipper in back of her leotard and pulling it down. She nuzzled into Jessica’s black hair and the bare back underneath her trickling mane, until she reached the nape of Jessica’s neck and kissed it.

Jessica shivered, her lips opening, but she managed to hold back the moan she felt. Trish kept peeling the leotard away from the fine layer of sweat on Jessica’s skin, working it down a grateful Jessica’s body until she was kissing Jessica’s bare ass. Jessica stepped out of the shed leotard and as she did, her buttocks quivered, revealing the buttplug stuffed between them.

“Pink,” Trish muttered. “It needs to be pink.”

Of course, none of Trish’s fantasies could compare to the smell of Jessica’s smoldering pussy, filling the air as if meant to entice her. Trish spread Jessica’s buttocks and licked the valley between them, both above and below the plug. There, she pushed on the buttplug with her tongue and managed to jostle it a little in Jessica’s anus. The brunette cooed and obligingly bent forward.

Next, Trish spread the lips of her labia, licking up and down them from behind. Jessica’s cream ran down her inner thighs for Trish to lap up. It seemed to taste better, sweeter, like Jessica’s desperation to have Trish satisfy her was in the very juices of her cunt.

Trish picked herself up and walked to the office chair at Jessica’s cliché private eye desk. She sat down in it, wishing a little bit that she had a fedora. She could play the detective and Jessica could play her Gal Friday. Jessica might like being under the desk for a while.

But she didn’t have the patience to go through the preliminaries again. Torment was for Jessica, not her dom. Trish wrapped a hand around the base of her strap-on, holding it up.

“Here, Jess. Have a seat,” she husked.

Jessica’s eyelids actually fluttered. Shame she had to take the whole costume off for the game to keep going. Maybe Trish could talk her into wearing a wig. And a mask. The boots and gloves, at least. _Fuck, do I ever have a fetish._

But then, if she was kinky, Jessica was the one who liked taking ten inches of dildo up her ass. So at least they had _something_ in common.

Jessica backed up onto Trish’s lap, shaking her ass a little as she lowered it down to her mistress. She draped the folds of her cunt over the tip of the strap-on, then impaled herself on it inch by inch. Jessica groaned ecstatically as it entered her. It felt like more than sex. It felt like she was complete.

Trish wrapped her arms around Jessica, feeling out her breasts, kissing and licking the supple muscles of her back. She rocked her hips to knife the dildo up into Jessica’s sizzling pussy.

“Oh God, Trish!” Jessica purred. “The buttplug’s still in me, baby—you’ve got both my holes—you’re fucking me all at once!”

Trish grinned from ear to ear. Jessica spent so many waking hours wrapped in a cocoon of sarcasm and bitterness and cynicism that it was a wonder to see the emotions burst out of her. She pinched Jessica’s stiff nipples, distracting Jessica a little before she ground her strap-on into her sucking, quivering sex. Jessica’s honey ran down the dildo’s length until it anointed Trish’s groin. That felt even more heavenly than Jessica’s naked flesh against her own.

“I want more, Jess,” Trish breathed, seeing how Jessica was shuddering, already close to orgasm. It just needed to hurt a little more and then she’d climax. “I want your ass.”

Jessica was too far gone to gainsay her. “Yes, mistress,” she moaned, pulling herself up off Trish’s strap-on and repositioning herself. The dildo aimed between her buttocks. “Take it out of me, Trish. Then _fuck me._ Not the buttplug. _You!”_

Trish smiled so hard she glowed. She couldn’t believe that bitchy, short-tempered Jessica Jones could be such a submissive, begging and pleading on verbal bended knee. She reached over to the buttplug, pried up the ring that was built into the base, and tugged on it so the plug was dragged out of Jessica’s weakly clutching anus. Leaving the hole splayed open, just waiting for Trish to take possession.

The only thing spoiling the effect of Jessica presenting herself to be fucked in the ass was the lustful quiver that went through her. That made it clear that Jessica wasn’t just inviting Trish to sodomize her. She was begging for it.

Trish touched her forefinger to the small of Jessica’s back and drew the pad of her finger down Jessica’s spine, that little stroke commanding Jessica to lower herself down. She did, her asshole stretching easily—if not painlessly—around the dildo until it was sunk into her rectum. Jessica didn’t moan with this impalement. No, this time she gurgled in abject ecstasy—reaching between her legs to finger herself as she was sodomized.

Trish chuckled to herself, permitting the subversiveness. Even in the middle of delivering her ass to Trish’s cock, her hot little filly managed to be willful. If Jess wasn’t, how much fun could it really be?

“You gonna ride my cock?” Trish cooed mockingly, seeing the heat rise in Jessica, a flush going down the back of Jessica’s neck. “Does your ass need my big hard dick for you to get off? Ride it, Jess. Fucking _ruin that ass_ on my strap! That old buttplug better not be able to fit when we’re done. Oh no, I wanna buy a new plug for your ass after it’s permanently opened up by my prick! With a nice big fake diamond in the middle of it! And when people ask you why you’re called Jewel, you can drop your pants and bend over and _fucking show them!_ ”

Jessica gibbered in mad enjoyment, bouncing up and down, fucking her ass on Trish’s strap-on and rubbing her hand between her thighs. She felt like nothing more and nothing less than Trish’s bitch, having free will only so she could be a better slave for her mistress, her body only existing to be wrapped around the cock Trish had buried in her asshole.

Then, it was like she’d said the magic words—thinking of how beholden she was to Trish, how Trish owned her, Trish took care of her in every way a person could be cared for. A gigantic feeling of warmth surged through Jessica’s body. It was an orgasm, but so utterly unlike anything Jessica had felt masturbating or in past sexual encounters that she felt silly—lightheaded—referring to it like that. It was some magic trick that could explode over and over again; no sooner would one climax subside than another had Jessica in its grip.

Jessica’s flesh was racked with incredible bursts of sensations which seemed to spread to Trish as well. Her mistress crushed Jessica in her embrace, grinding her strap-on into Jessica’s spasming anus, biting into Jessica’s shoulder like a vampire. Jessica’s nectar ran in torrents down her body and onto Trish’s. Trish held her tightly, rocking her strap-on inside Jessica’s ass, stroking her cleavage, absorbing the feeling of how her heart was slamming inside her chest.

“You own my ass,” Jessica moaned, completing her rapture, the words lubricating her way into a perfectly contented afterglow. “It’s yours, my ass is yours. I belong to you. I belong to your cock. I’ll always be your cocksleeve, your fuckhole, your anal slut. Use me. Use me. Let me be _yours._ ”

Unknown to the two women entwined behind the desk, there was a voyeur to go with their taboo. It was Dorothy Walker.

A workhorse when she set her mind on something, she had waited outside Jessica’s building for hours until Trish showed up. Then she had followed her daughter up to Jessica’s room, intent on confronting her over her association with Jessica, as well as a litany of other quibbles she took with Trish’s life. She had never expected to catch them finishing their preparations for the game they’d made of humiliation and submission, Jessica making urgent pleas for Trish to fuck her and Trish apparently enjoying being a part of it all.

Dorothy had watched through the frosted glass and drawn shade of Jessica’s door. She knew what was happening. The two of them were so broken, so screwed up, so willfully impossible to live with that they’d ended up with the only people who would take them: each other. Substituting a dildo for a real relationship, but to an extent Dorothy wouldn’t have imagined possible. 

Dorothy listened to the squish of the dildo inside Jessica’s body and their frantic words as they bargained on the sexual submission taking place. She didn’t know if it was Jessica being a pervert and somehow drawing Trish into it—it didn’t seem like Jessica to tempt Trish into dominating her and punishing her this way—or if it was Trish who wanted this and she’d managed for once to enact a measure of control over Jessica—but then, she knew Trish wasn’t a bad apple like Jessica was.

What she didn’t know was how any of this was possible… how it could even _be_ that Jessica had been telling the truth about that buttplug in her ass belonging to Trish, and Trish enjoying performing the sick acts that Jessica bragged about enjoying, and how it could be that the two women she’d known as having some modicum of sanity could possibly be doing _this?_

Unable to fit all that she’d seen together in her mind, let alone all that was continuing to happen the longer she spent spying on the two women, Dorothy walked away. Jessica and Trish never even knew she was there.


End file.
